Lost to the stars
by Diedott
Summary: One can keep up appearances. The true question is, how long can they be held until they shatter?


_Rating may change._

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Rodimus Prime sat at his desk, fingers trailing over the large expanse of his workspace and burning through it. The singes formed very unclear images, and made for convenient sources of attention span to dissipate almost instantly.

Ah, such were the joys of boredom.

Upon checking on Ultra Magnus, the larger mech clearly stated that he had 1025 reports to attend to amongst numerous other things, and implied largely that he wanted to be left in peace. He didn't even bother checking on Drift, who knew what the white mech was doing. Well, surely...something. He didn't seem too keen on just dilly-dallying around.

So that left Rodimus, on his own and oh-so bored, and too lazy/stubborn/reluctant to get out of his suite and do something useful. He didn't just like 'doing what the captain should'. Instead, he thought the complete opposite, and left Ultra Magnus and Drift all the dirty work, letting him relax and all he would ever have to do was act as a figure head. That's what they were there for, in his mind.

Deciding to leave the last bit of blank canvas which was his desk, he stood up from a slouch - not even bothering to tuck his chair in - and wandered carelessly over to the window, where he proceeded to drape himself over the window shelf.

To Rodimus, it seemed the view never changed, everything where it was the last time he looked (Either that, or he was going mad). Times like this he missed home, the homely sights, and that glimpse of hope that still glistened somewhere. But the darkest part of his processor often came forward, creeping out of the shadows of his mind and asking over and over if he would ever see Cybertron again and the questions droned on and on and the stars tried to reassure him, tell him he would, tell him they all would, to just believe and just gazing out of the porthole seemed to give him more than a bit of a processor ache.

Taking a step back, it almost seemed like taking his head out of the water, coming up for fresh air and a clear look around. He shook the negativity back into his mind, as he heard a curious little beep from his door; someone requesting entrance from the other side. Deciding pacing would do him good, he manually walked over to it himself, opening the door to come face to face with Drift.

The white greeted him with a quaint little smile, and Rodimus acknowledged it with a minute nod, sighing and motioning for him to come in. As they strutted into the expanse of his room, Rodimus felt a little uneasiness from his companion, he looked out of place, and he didn't do a good job of hiding it. Perhaps he was doing it on purpose.

"I figured I'd...see how you were doing." Drift started, adjusting the great sword propped up on his back gently, almost in nervousness. Rodimus didn't believe he could be nervous, so let it slip without a second thought. He paced over to his berth, plopping down, legs split out and hands clasped softly in front of him, held only by the thick air of uncertainty that had filtered in when the door had opened.

The captain grinned meekly, his boredom having somewhat vanished and was now replaced with some awkwardness, which he was glad for.

"I'm glad you came, I'm thinking too much these days..." he muttered in return, no hardship meant in his drawling tone, and Drift knew that. Their little 'excursion' had been quite a toll on everybody, but Rodimus took the brunt of it, and Drift couldn't help but feel sorry for him, what that kind of stress and worry must be like. He paced slowly over to where the Prime sat, still standing a good way away from him.

"Need someone to tell, or just...?"

Rodimus almost nodded immediately, before Drift could second guess. He motioned for his companion to sit down beside him, which Drift did albeit hesitantly. The two sat in another long, unfilled silence, Rodimus gathering his thoughts in his head and Drift only wondering what Rodimus would spout out upon him. The captain drew a deep intake through his mouth, before letting the sigh start him off.

"It's just...what's happened Drift? " he started, his voice soft, quiet, almost hiding something else. "This journey, this 'quest'...it's been nothing but a failure. How many Autobots have died under my command? I... Primus, I promised myself no one would..." he stressed. His words really weren't aimed at anybody, perhaps himself, questioning his own solid judgment aloud for the first time in a while. His own positivity was starting to crack, and like he said...

He had just had too much time to think.

Drift shifted uncomfortably, clearly so, and really couldn't figure what to say in return. What was he to say? What he always said? He didn't deem it appropriate.

Instead, he slowly lifted his hand, flexing his digits gently before placing it ever so carefully on his friend's spoiler. He cautiously moved the tips of his digits in a soothing motion, slowly and carefully, knowing how sensitive they could be.

Rodimus turned to look at Drift, surprised at his actions, and something slowly started to break which was barely held back. He stifled a choked out sob, pinching the bridge of his olfactory sensors in some attempt to keep up an appearance. But Drift just wanted to help, he didn't want to upset him!

"Primus Drift, I... you know I'm no good at this. I'm not up to being a captain, I never wanted this responsibility, I..."

In one swift motion, Rodimus shifted his shaking frame into Drift's chest, and began to sob. Coolant dripped down his cheeks, trailing down the white mech's chest armour as his desperate sobs bubbled out of him. Drift sat flaccid for a moment, but soon wrapped his arms around his back, bringing him close for all the good it would do him. Rodimus just melted into the embrace, letting everything out on to one of the mechs he trusted the most.

Slowly, Drift shifted his commander's form down on to the berth, leant down himself so they were chest to chest, helm in his neck and just hoping he was doing the right thing. He had never seen Rodimus break like this before, he kept it all behind that mask of his. He shouldn't just bottle it up like this, he should tell them! Well, either him or Magnus (maybe Rung), Drift knew he wouldn't just vent out on to the entire crew. He had an image to keep up, like he said, and he couldn't lower the morale by his own hand.

The wails that came from him soon began to die down, and his frame shook no more. Drift tried to pry his head up, but Rodimus kept it down.

"Rodimus?..." he questioned softly. The commander didn't even lift his head, and kept it rooted into the other's neck.

"Just...stay. Please." he asked, though his voice was pleading. He needed someone to keep him up or he would just fall again. Drift held his breath for a moment, before quietly agreeing to. He didn't plan on staying, but honestly, he wouldn't mind it either.

He dimmed the lights remotely and let the Rodimus in his arms drift off into a stuttering sleep, Drift's arms comforting at any whimper that resonated from him.

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_So! First fanfiction in I don't know how long. This one revolving around the life of Rodimus, and being the captain of the lost light. And Drift in there because otpppppppppp /sobs_  
_With the IDW comics, I don't really feel like I get a lot more on personalities based on what I already know. So I really can't tell if how I've written them is out of character, I've just done it how I wanted to write it, in character or not._  
_If you liked it, a review would be much appreciated, and would love to know if you think I should continue it or not. _


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